


Crocodile Tears

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Stuff [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU - Dom/sub, Angst, Brat Sherlock, Dom Greg, Dom John, Frustrated John, Gen, Hand Job, Handcuffs, M/M, Punishment, Restraints, Sub Mycroft, Sub Sherlock, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Mycroft and Sherlock are in trouble. Guess which one just keeps pushing and pushing and pushing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crocodile Tears

Sherlock and Mycroft knelt, their heads low, beside each other. Fear forced them to keep their heads down, fear of angering their Dom's further. They were both in for a rough ride, they may enjoy some of it but that wouldn't be their partners’ intention. Both of them knew that this was no time for deductions, neither Greg nor John liked to be anticipated, so they stared resolutely at the floor.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly to regard his brother, his hands were clasped in front of him whereas his own were behind, individual Dom preferences never ceased to amaze the detective.

“Sherlock. Boy!” John barked. “None of that. You're thinking. Hands behind your head.”

Sherlock swore silently, he knew better, but he couldn't just shut his mind off. His Dom would have to do that. “Sorry, sir.” He fidgeted as he laced his fingers together behind his head.

Mycroft's head jerked up in surprise at John's voice and he glanced at his brother. What had he done? It couldn't have been much, seeing as he hadn't noticed, John must be really angry, shouting at him for just moving. Greg hadn't- “Mycroft! Sherlock fidgeting does not give you the right to move too!”

He dropped his head again. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.” He just wished the Doms would leave the room, not sit over on the sofas chatting like their subs had not done something a bit not good.

“Copy your brother!”

Those were words Mycroft hadn't heard very often. He laced his fingers behind his head even as he made a little moue of disapproval. 'Copy your brother', indeed.

Sherlock had been watching his brother from the corner of his eye and had deduced his every thought. John and Greg were busy talking, so he risked sticking his tongue out at Mycroft briefly. He was so busy focusing on his brother he didn't see John head toward him with purpose. The first he knew of the doctor's presence was the sharp tug of his head as his hair was grabbed in a fist. He realised that may have been a mistake before the Dom even started his next bollocking. Sherlock's shut his eyes tightly, not liking the vision of an angry John.

“Look at me, young man,” the doctor ordered.

The sub flinched then opened one eye - John was glaring at him - he quickly opened the other. “Sorry, sir.” He had a feeling he would be saying that a lot.

“Well, do you know what, Sherlock, sorry doesn't cut it. Not anymore. It's like you don't even care when you upset or disappoint me anymore.” He pushed his head down. “Do not make me come back over here.”

Sherlock bit his lip, of course he cared. He always cared about disappointing John. They were just words, they didn't mean anything. His Dom knew better, he had to. Sherlock blinked away the first stinging tears from his eyes. He managed to stay still without looking at or antagonising his brother for a full 5 minutes.

The Dom's were still sat chatting in hushed tones, no doubt planning what they were going to do with them.

Mycroft couldn't help but feel guilty he was just as responsible for this mess as Sherlock was but his brother couldn't help but wind his Dom up, he never knew when to just stop, he had to push and push until eventually John snapped.

“Don't,” Sherlock whispered. He had seen where his brother's thoughts were headed. Mycroft was planning on doing something to draw the two Doms' attention to him. “I'll get one up on you, if you do.”

The government official suppressed a sigh. Sherlock would do it, he had promised he would the last time Mycroft had tried something similar. All he wanted was to protect his baby brother, he knew deep down he didn't need protecting from John.

“Are you talking, boy?!”

Sherlock sighed, he really wasn't making this any easier. John didn't move off the sofa but ordered, “Stand up!” He obeyed immediately his hands still behind his head. “Take three steps to the left and kneel again.”

Head low, Sherlock did as he was told, kneeling 4 yards from his brother.

John really wanted a beer, a nice cold beer, but he knew he couldn't have one, not until this was done. “Tea, Greg?” he offered instead.

The DI accepted gratefully. It was a good excuse to make the brothers wait. The longer they waited the more they'd worry, and hopefully remorse would kick in, he knew it would with Mycroft but he wasn't so sure with the younger. So he followed the doctor to the kitchen leaving the subs alone and hoping for Sherlock's sake he didn't do anything to warrant further anger on John's part.

Mycroft watched with dismay as the inevitable happened. Sherlock grew restless and started twiddling his fingers, then he started shifting about. Not for the first time, Mycroft wondered if some form of ADHD medication was in order. It didn't matter, his brother wouldn't take it anyway. “Sherlock,” he hissed, getting his brother's attention. “Calm down.”

His fingers paused in their twiddling, with one glance at Mycroft he dropped his head again. “What are they going to do with us?” He asked quietly.

“Oh, no, baby brother. I'm not about to try to deduce them.” He steadfastly looked at the floor and didn't glance towards the kitchen. “I would like the chance to come within the next month.” Any deductions on his part would preclude that. Greg had made that quite clear years ago.

Sherlock knew John didn't like it when he deduced him either, but it would help. If he knew what was coming he could give John what he wanted. The Doms seemed to be taking a long time in the kitchen and when he heard Mycroft sniff he knew that he should be feeling bad round about now. He tried to put on a contrite countenance. The tears were easy, his eyes still stung from disappointing John - he couldn't have cared less about his supposed misdeed. And, there, he had the tremble in his lip just right. He was focusing on getting his emotions settled in a way that would please his Dom that he didn't realise they'd come out of the kitchen until he was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and pulled roughly to his feet. One glance to his right, and his brother was getting the same treatment.

Sherlock blinked theatrically, squeezing large crocodile tears from the corners of his eyes. He gave a loud sniffle for good measure.

Mycroft's sniffle was quieter, less ostentatious and much more sincere.

“I know you regret your actions, pet,” Lestrade spoke into his sub's ear, “But I can't just let it go.”

“I know, sir.”

John simply glared at Sherlock. He tightened his grip and thrust him in the direction of the playroom. At least, it was normally the play room, Sherlock had a horrible feeling that it was more likely to be a torture room than a play one.

Mycroft followed, but Greg had at least let him go. Why did Mycroft always show him up?

John tightened his grip on Sherlock's nape.  “I know you weren't about to stomp your foot, boy.” It was a warning, but it went right over the sub's head.

“Let go, I know where the playroom is, John.” Even as the words left his mouth, Sherlock cringed. He hated his traitorous mouth!

Sherlock wasn't the only one who cringed, Mycroft paused where he was and Greg rolled his eyes as he dropped a hand on his sub's shoulder.

“I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry.”

“Save it,” the doctor snarled he moved his grip to his ear and pulled him into the room after kicking the door open. He deposited him by the bench. “Kneel!” He barked. More out of reflex than submission Sherlock knelt. It was a few more moments before the other pair joined them.

Mycroft bent over the bench at Greg's order and grasped the handles that were provided.

Sherlock did the same, but John buckled cuffs around his wrists and clipped them to the handles. It wasn't fair. Neither was the strap that his Dom pulled over Sherlock's waist, holding him down.

“It's not fair!” Sherlock complained and this time Mycroft couldn't keep out of it.

“Pack it in, Lock, just take it.” He felt the DI's hand rest at his nape, it wasn't hard but was a warning. The government official sighed and rested his head against the leather surface.

Sherlock felt his Dom's finger breach him before Mycroft. But the older Holmes had the freedom to move with it.

Sherlock squirmed. That's all he could do and it was maddening. The sensation wasn't bad, just a mild stretch, even without lube. He liked it without lube sometimes. Still, he had a bad feeling about whatever might be coming next. His bad feeling wasn't uncalled for as when he'd usually get a second finger this time he got a well lubed plug begin its entrance, he hissed, it wouldn't hurt him, John wouldn't do that, but it burned.

Mycroft was getting it slightly easier as Greg's middle finger pushed in too, this time with lube.

Sherlock's feet started kicking against the floor in a fit of frustration. John grabbed his ankles. “Greg, would you give me a hand here.”

“Sure thing mate. Spreader bar?” Greg suggested.

The doctor nodded. “You read my mind.”

“Stay still,” he ordered his sub and moved to locate the bar.

John attached the cuffs around his ankles and Greg pushed the spreader bar between them.

“Wider than that, Greg.”

Sherlock managed to get one more stamp in before his legs were too far apart.

Greg looked from his relatively well behaved sub to Sherlock and shook his head. “John, if I were you, I'd go ahead and gag him. It'd be kinder and it would keep him from getting into more trouble.”

“You think a gag will 'keep me out of trouble'?” Sherlock laughed.

“Sherlock, if I were you I would look at your situation and then I'd look at your brother's and make a deduction.”

He hissed something inaudible and gagged as a large cock shaped piece of silicon pushed between his teeth.

Sherlock glared over at his brother, willing him to say something, anything that would get him in at least half as much trouble, but Mycroft only looked at him with pity. He hated pity! Sherlock started struggling fiercely, simply because he was suddenly, irrationally angry with his brother.

Neither John nor Greg moved to stop him. They both thought it best if he just got whatever was bothering him out of his system and exhausted himself in the process. As hard as he was fighting, it didn't take long.

When Sherlock had burnt himself out he collapsed on the bench, John took the opportunity to tighten the strap over his waist and returned his attention to pushing the plug in the barely-prepared hole.

Greg ran his hands over his own sub's hair and then down his back. “Shall we get back to this, then?” He asked, giving fair warning to the government official.

Mycroft knew there was nothing he could do for his brother, so he blocked him out. Instead, he concentrated on the pleasant feel of Greg's fingers stretching him. He would take his pleasure while he could. Despite knowing it wouldn't last long, he made the most of it, but it was over far too quickly from Mycroft's point of view and he moaned his disapproval.

“Tut tut, pet, this is punishment, remember?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

He gasped as his hole was breached with something other than his Dom's fingers.

Mycroft told himself 'don't deduce' repeatedly, but he had a feeling he knew what was coming.

Greg bent down over him and ordered, “Don't move,” then stood back up.

There came the sound of twin snicks and Mycroft's fears were confirmed when the plug in his arse started vibrating at the same moment his brother let out a muffled moan.

He hadn't expected the leather cuffs to appear around his wrists, Greg clipping one to the handle and John doing the same with the other. He heard the door swing and then the click of the lock. Bollocks.

He tried to get a coherent thought around the vibrations, but struggled. It took all of his energy to close his eyes and shake his head, he couldn't straighten, but he needed to talk to Sherlock who had begun thrashing about again.

“Sherlock, calm down!”

He heard something muffled in response.

“Tap, Sherlock, use the bar. I didn’t teach you morse code for no reason.”

“I iuh ai,” Sherlock whined around the silicone gag instead.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and inadvertently shifted. The vibrator pressed up against his sweet spot and he gasped. It felt good right now, but he almost never succeeded in coming from prostate stimulation alone. He couldn't help himself, Mycroft calculated how long it would be before it became overstimulating - not long enough.

Greg and John moved into a little side room where they could drink coffee and watch their subs. The doctor knew he had to keep an eye on Sherlock because he might use that dildo down his throat to his advantage and play stupid games, pretending he couldn't breathe.

Sherlock pushed against the silicone with his tongue. He knew he wouldn't be able to dislodge it, but if he... his tongue got stuck... folded up behind the dildo. He tried to move it, but his tongue started to cramp. He grunted his distress, loudly.

Mycroft twisted and looked at his brother, knowing instantly that something was wrong. “Violin,” he called, using Sherlock's safe word.

John came in immediately followed by Greg. The doctor unbuckled the gag from his sub's mouth and pulled it free. Sherlock panted, getting his breath back.

Both, Mycroft and Greg watched as the doctor did something neither of them expected. He undid the straps holding him down as well as the spreader bar, grabbed Sherlock by the hair and pulled him over towards the corner.

“John… what are you doing?” Greg asked.

“That is not the first time he's pulled that stunt to get what he wants, being near his brother obviously isn't helping to make him feel guilty.”

“Sir-” Sherlock choked.

“No! Are you seriously about to tell me that was not on purpose?” He asked rhetorically.

The sub looked away, they both knew it was.

Sherlock was very unhappy. The only thing worse than kneeling and being ignored was kneeling in the corner and being ignored. John pushed him down on his knees, forcing Sherlock to reassess his previous observation as the vibrator shifted inside him - kneeling in the corner and being ignored with a vibrator shoved up him was definitely worse.

Mycroft looked up at his Dom, slightly worried.

“He knows Sherlock as well as you do, pet, do you really think he'd hurt him or punish him further if that was serious?”

“No, sir.” He couldn't help but grind his cock into the bench, through all the talk he'd been trying to ignore the vibrator, but he was hardly succeeding.

 

Greg grinned at him, knowing precisely what he was trying to accomplish. He gave him a swat on the arse. “Stop that, pet!” Mycroft's pinkening flesh beckoned, so the Dom caressed it, then swatted it again.

John returned from the corner, his fists were clenched by his sides and his face was redder than either of the older men had ever seen it.

“Greg, would you mind...” John looked down at the elder Holmes, “would either of you mind if we swapped? I'm getting too angry with him. If he keeps pushing, this could go wrong.”

“John!” Sherlock yelled from the corner. The doctor was most surprised that the brat didn't turn around.

“Shut it!” John barked.

Greg dropped his hand on his pet's head. “What do you think, babe?”

Mycroft tried to ignore the vibrator and just think. This wasn't about what he wanted. It wasn't about his hidden attraction to John - Greg was everything he needed and more. This was about what was best for Sherlock. John had a temper and if the good doctor thought he was in danger of losing said temper, then Mycroft's answer could only be, “Okay, sir. Sirs.”

John glanced up at the DI, “Well?”

He nodded. “Of course, mate.”

“Cheers.” John headed over to the corner where his sub was knelt, he crouched down low and hissed in his ear. “If you have a problem with this then safe word now.”

“No, sir,” Sherlock tried to be strong but it came out more of a whimper than his usual deep baritone.

Interesting, John thought as he observed his sub. Sherlock's entire posture had shifted, his shoulders were hunched and were they quivering? They were. “This doesn't mean I don't love you, Pet. I'm just upset right now. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He didn't sound very sure of himself. So John used his boy’s hair to turn him around and then knelt on one knee in front of him. “You push me and push me, pet, if breaking into the Yard wasn't enough, you fight everything I do. You argue and you wind me up. I'm not going to put myself into a situation where I could hurt you, do you understand that?”

He nodded, his head low.

“Good.”

The doctor headed back over to Mycroft and Greg headed towards the kneeling detective.

Mycroft closed his eyes as John crouched down by the bench. The Dom looked him over from head to toe, taking in his current state of aroused distress and smiling. “You're almost as pretty as your brother.”

Greg called out over his shoulder, “Oi! There's nothing 'almost' about it.”

That elicited a huff of disapproval from Sherlock. Greg grabbed him by the curls. Every Dom the detective had ever had had done that. Maybe he should just shave them off. That would show Greg and John.

Sherlock wasn't worried, more annoyed. The DI had been there and helped him through difficult times and if Mycroft trusted him enough to submit to him without question then he knew nothing would happen, but he couldn't help but think that both the Doms would by slightly more detached but more cautious. Cautious was good, he might get away with more. Detached was not, he couldn't even attempt emotional manipulation.

Greg looked into the deep grey-green eyes beneath him. “Now, Sherlock, I know what you're like. God knows I've had to calm John down enough times, try anything and I will not hesitate to punish you how I punish your brother, is that understood?”

Sherlock's mouth worked, and he struggled to find the correct reply. This was Lestrade, for goodness sake!

Greg tightened his fist in dark curls. “Is that understood?”

The sub found his words, “Yes, sir.” He couldn't look at him as a friend, this had to be purely Dom/sub. He managed to look over at his proper Dom and his brother.

The doctor had released Mycroft's wrists and was helping him up. The next thing he saw was his brother being tipped over his Dom's lap. Sherlock let out a low, jealous and broken whine.

Greg still hadn't released him so he gave his head a sharp tug and pulled him over to a nearby chair. Sherlock soon found himself over his brother's Dom's lap. And there was nothing at all arousing about it. When the DI's hand came down, it just bloody hurt! “Ow!”

Greg paused in mid-stroke, “What did you say?”

Damn! His voice came out almost cringing, “Ow, sir?”

“Ow? After one hit?”

Sherlock didn't answer.

“I know John's spanked you more times than you can remember and you're saying ow after one? Are you trying to get John's attention?”

John had paused in his own assault on Mycroft's arse - who had remained stoically silent - to watch his sub.

“No, sir, but...”

“But?” Greg asked.

Sherlock steeled himself. “ItFeelsGoodWhenJohnDoesIt, Sir.”

Mycroft actually had to suppress a surprised laugh. His brother had just revealed too much to both Doms.

“It's not supposed to feel good, Sherlock!” John snapped. “Why didn't I know this?”

When there was no response the doctor nodded once and Greg let his hand fall. Hard. Again and again until Sherlock interrupted.

“Because I managed to control my arousal, sir.”

“You mean, after all these years, I've been punishing you in a way you actually enjoy?!”

“Well,” grunt, “I'm not the only one.” Sherlock twisted and shot a look at his brother.

Greg's gaze shifted to his own sub's face which was turning crimson. “Mycroft Holmes!”

Mycroft bit his lip. “Sir?”

John caught the detective's badly hidden smirk. “Don't think this is finished, young man!”

For once, Mycroft sincerely hoped that Sherlock would say something ill advised. And obviously Sherlock didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. “It's not my fault I enjoy it and anyway, I thought Mycroft was your sub now?!”

Both Doms gaped at the younger Holmes, floored by his amazing stupidity.

“Mycroft is not my sub, you twat.” John was more annoyed than angry.

“Tell him that!” Sherlock spat, his vocal filter still offline. “He's clearly struggling to hide his arousal.”

John growled as he realised his sub was being sarcastic, I thought Mycroft was your sub now even now the brat was trying to push his buttons.

“Sherlock will you keep your mouth shut, for once?!” Mycroft snapped.

“I can't be dealing with this. Would you take him next door, Greg, maybe some time alone will calm him down.”

John closed his eyes and tried to find an inner balance as Sherlock was dragged off amidst much protest. The room fell quiet and he opened his eyes.

Mycroft was almost holding his breath, waiting for whatever would come next. The damned vibrator was still going, his arse hurt delightfully and it took all he had in him to control his cock.

“So, Mycroft. Is it true?” John asked. “Do you enjoy being over my lap?”

“No, sir. It's just the vibrator, air, honest.”

John nodded. “Very well. Get up, lean over the bench, Greg can deal with it when he comes back.”

Mycroft nodded his head shakily as he stood up. “Yes, sir.”

That's when things turned from a punishment session for Mycroft to a rant session for John. The Dom started pacing the room, doing an uncanny impression of his own sub, and muttering about Sherlock's insufferable, infuriating penchant for getting himself into endless trouble. It ended with “I don't get it Mycroft. I just don't get it. And the part that drives me mad? I love the git more every day! Does that even make sense?” He paced a few more steps, then stopped, his shoulders sagging. A broken sound from Mycroft caught his attention and he looked over, the sub's face had turned bright red and he was clearly finding his predicament difficult. “Oh, Fuck! Let me get Greg.”

John rushed over to the corner where Greg had headed with the detective. He had his brat knelt in the corner of the small room, his breathing was heavy and for once his hands weren't twitching where they interlocked behind his head. It appeared the vibrator was no longer inside him as his cock was beginning to flag.

“John?” The DI questioned as he turned from where he stood, arms folded behind the kneeling man.

“Your sub needs you.”

“But-”

“He needs you more than my brat does or deserves for that matter.”

He nodded and followed John back towards where Mycroft was still in the position the doctor had ordered him into, but not before first locking the door to the small room.

Greg hovered near his sub, taking in his need and desperation. Crouching down, he asked, “have you learned your lesson, pet?”

Limbs locked to keep from moving, Mycroft nodded. “Yes, sir.”

One thing could be said for Mycroft Holmes, he never lied to his Dom, not even from desperation. Greg grasped him by the neck and pulled him back. He used his other hand to take his sub's cock in hand and stroke it. “You can come now, love.”

And Mycroft did. Hard and fast. He collapsed on his Dom, panting. “I'm sorry, sir. I'm really sorry.”

“Shh, pet. I know.”

Mycroft glanced at the doctor, he was over by the wall, leaning against it. His arms were folded, his eyes were shut as his head tipped back. He glanced towards the door where Sherlock was. “He always ruins everything.” Mycroft said.

“He doesn't learn,” Greg agreed.

“I need to put a stop to this, don't I?” John said feeling resentment but not letting it show in his voice.

“This needs to be a joint thing, John, you can't fix this one on your own, it will take all three of us to get through to him.”

Mycroft looked up in surprise. “Me, sir?”

“You're not being punished any more, pet, I'm pretty sure you've learnt your lesson. Now you need to help your brother learn his.”

“I can't let this go, Greg,” John interrupted. “He's pushed the bar way too far this time.”

“I know. Pet, why don't you put your clothes on? May give you an edge when we finally get around to talking to him.”

Sherlock had, of course, managed to turn himself around so that he was facing the door. When the three men entered, the two Doms and the sub, Sherlock's eyes went wide. Mycroft was fully clothed and his arms were crossed in that superior fashion of his. That didn't bode well, not at all. Sherlock actually shifted a small distance backwards. He flinched when both Greg and John stepped towards him and he closed his eyes.

“Mycroft? I don't understand.”

“You never do.”

Sherlock almost barred his teeth at the older man but was more surprised by Greg grabbing him when he thought it was going to be John.

“May I?” Mycroft asked, deferentially to both Doms. At their nods, the elder Holmes replaced Greg's grip with his own. Mycroft crouched low in front of him, never releasing his grip. “You've got to learn to control your mouth, Sherlock. Stop making deductions or at least stop blurting them out indiscriminately. Just a bit of discretion would go a long way. You're pushing John to his breaking point, brother dear.” Mycroft turned Sherlock's head by his grip in his hair. “Look at him!” Sherlock tried to pull his head out of his brother's grip but Mycroft was having none of it. He'd been grabbed by his own Dom enough times to know how to hold the detective without him pulling free. “Look at him!” He snapped. Finally Sherlock looked up at his Dom. It was no more than a glance but he could see what Mycroft meant by it. The older man was stood back, remaining impartial to what Mycroft was doing. His arms were folded across his chest - tense. His breathing was heavy - anger and he wouldn't look at him - disapproval.

“Do you know the worse thing, Sherlock? The more of an arse you are, the more he loves you.”

“What's going to happen?” He asked softly.

Mycroft glanced at his Dom and the slight tilt of his head gave him permission to answer.

“We're going to teach you a lesson.”

Sherlock's voice shook as he asked, “how?”

“Tell me, Sherlock,” Mycroft forced him to meet his eyes, “what is the most important thing in your life?” He was gratified to see his brother's eyes dart over to look at John.

“You know the answer to that, Mycroft.” He hissed as his brother's fingers tightened in his hair. “John! It's John!”

“Quite. So why do you push him? He's tolerant with you, more tolerant than any other Dom I've ever come across, and before I met Gregory I had had my fair share of arrogant impulsive dominants.”

“I don't,” he argued, still not keeping his mouth shut.

“Well, I'm sorry for what you're about to hear brother-mine. Really I am.”

Mycroft glanced at the doctor, his hand still in Sherlock's hair, but at least - for now - he'd stopped fighting.

Sherlock was more nervous now than he had been in, well, longer than he could remember. He didn't like his brother's tone, but worse, he didn't like John's strained, pinched look. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to drop his head.

“I'm not sure if I can do this,” John looked away from his sub and Greg rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. The doctor took a deep breath. “I don't know what you want from me, Sherlock-” Mycroft had to tighten his grip as Sherlock went to open his mouth. “Everything I say you ignore, you pay no attention to any orders I give you and when you're punished you have the cheek to be nothing but rude and arrogant in a way that I have never seen in a sub before.”

Sherlock wilted, curling 0in on himself despite the hand gripping his hair. He knew he was undeserving of John, of any Dom. He was an undesirable sub, unteachable, untrainable. He was about to be left alone again.

John looked to his sub with a tear in his eye. He shook his head slowly, shrugged out of the DI's grip and stormed off out of the room.

“Brother dear,” Mycroft started. “John's gone home.”

“He's left you with me,” Greg intervened.

Sherlock balled himself up tighter, feeling as if his heart were breaking. Both words and actions were beyond him, even coherent thoughts eluded him. He willed himself to sink into the floor.

Mycroft released him and stepped back so the Dom was between the two subs. “May I, sir?” He asked his Dom.

Greg nodded. “Of course, see you later, pet.”

Mycroft left to catch up with the doctor, he couldn't stand to be around Sherlock when he was so emotional, it was the detective's own fault and he couldn't blame John or anybody else but himself.

Greg knew he needed to offer the sub cool and clinical care, but that seemed inadequate. Sherlock was clearly devastated. He ached to comfort him. It was a dilemma. The broken sob from the detective decided the Dom. Greg sat and gathered him in his arms. He could comfort him for a little while at least.

When he felt himself be gathered up by his brother's Dom, Sherlock panicked. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, he hadn't meant to anger John. Or had he? He knew he'd been pushing his luck and yet he'd kept going. Why? He didn't enjoy being punished, he hated it in fact. Why did he feel the need to push the Dom so far that he would just walk away?

“This isn't permanent, Sherlock,” Greg's tone was soft but was still stern.

“Because you wouldn't want me around all the time either.”

Greg gave a mirthless laugh. “Of course not, I'm in love with your brother and you wouldn't want me around all the time. You only want John and I'm a damned poor substitute, I know.” He sighed.

“How's this fair?”

Greg tensed immediately at the whining tone. He stood up and straightened.

“Fair?!” The Dom couldn't believe this. “What you do to John isn't fair!”

“But I don't do those things to John! They just happen and I don't mean them and I don't know why and I don't know how to stop them.”

“You have to want to please him, Sherlock, it doesn't just happen. You're submissive, you know that, so you're that way inclined but from what I've seen you fight it. You fight John just as much.”

“I won't if he'll let me-”

“That's not going to happen, Sherlock, you're staying here with me.”

“What about my brother?”

“He's going to look after John.”

“But that's my job!”

“Enough, Sherlock!” Greg barked. “John has left you with me because he can't trust himself not to hurt you, that doesn't mean he doesn't love you, in fact it means the opposite. But you need to realise how you should be treating him, because it's not right.”

Sherlock's breathing was coming heavy now. He could unravel the most complicated mystery within moments, deduce an individual's history on sight, but he couldn't fix this. He didn't know what to do. “It's hopeless. I'm hopeless. I can't change. I can't be what he needs. I can't be obedient all the time.”

Greg shook him. “Snap out of it! It's not all about you and John doesn't want a perfect sub anyway. Just stop pushing so damn much.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Well I'm under the impression you've not eaten today, so that will be our first stop. Up on your feet.” Greg didn't give him much of a choice as he pulled him up by his hair. “Hands behind you,” he ordered and was most surprised when Sherlock obeyed. He slipped his cuffs around the detective's wrists and manhandled him to the door.

“What does John want, sir?”

“John wants to take care of you, to feel like you want to be taken care of, and for you not to fight him every inch of the way.” Greg pushed him into a chair at the table. “Now sit.” He put together a sandwich that he cut into bite sized pieces and sat it in front of Sherlock. He picked up a piece, intent on feeding it to the sub one bite at a time.

Sherlock's shoulders rounded and his hands relaxed from the fists they'd been clenched in. “You're really going to feed me like a baby?”

Greg just raised an eyebrow. “This is what I'm talking about, Sherlock, you can't hold your tongue.”

Greg held the first bite to Sherlock's lips. The sub opened his mouth without a word and let himself be fed. He chewed slowly, thinking. If it was his mouth that got him in trouble, then he would remedy the situation. Not another word would pass his lips.

Sherlock ate the rest of the sandwich without complaint and sat there silently, staring at a fascinating spot on the table as the Dom washed up the plate and put it in the correct cupboard, he then pulled Sherlock back to his feet.

Greg eyed him. “Now, clothes I think.” He waited for the inevitable protest. It never came. The Dom found that somewhat disturbing, but he couldn't quite determine why. He dragged Sherlock by the arm towards his bedroom and pushed the detective to his knees by the wardrobe. He set about finding one of Mycroft's shirts and a pair of his trousers that would fit the younger man. Even when presented with his brother's clothes, Sherlock resolutely kept his mouth shut. Greg uncuffed him long enough for him to slip into his brother's shirt and button it up. He held the trousers for him and rather than a biting remark about being able to dress himself he kept his mouth shut. Greg narrowed his eyes, feeling as though something was off, but not sure what. The feeling intensified as he refastened Sherlock's cuffs behind his back. Sherlock stayed knelt even as he heard the door go. Greg allowed his hand to rest in his curls for a moment.

After a few minutes Mycroft's head poked around the corner of the bedroom door. “Sir?”

“All done, pet?”

Mycroft glanced at his baby brother whose head was low. “He's gone to bed.”

Greg glanced at the clock, it had just gone 6, the doctor must have been tired.

“Shall I put the kettle on, sir?”

“Yeah,” Greg said, wiping a hand across tired eyes.

“How many cups shall I pour?”

“One for both of us and your brother, if he would like one.”

Mycroft turned towards Sherlock expectantly. “Well, baby brother?” All he received was silence. The government official just rolled his eyes and made his way toward the kitchen. If Sherlock wanted to sulk then so be it.

Greg sat on the bed just in front of the detective and unlaced his shoes. He glanced up when he heard metal shaking that sounded like the handcuffs, he stood to check that he hadn't wriggled out of them only to find all he had done was dropped his head to his chest, consequently shifting his arms.

“What to do with you?” Greg mused aloud. He half expected some cheeky response. Sherlock's head only dropped lower as his shoulders hunched. The Dom reached out and tipped the sub's head up with a single finger under the chin and peered into pale green eyes.

The detective only met the Dom's eyes for a moment but quickly looked away, he didn't fight back but the second the finger disappeared he dropped his head again.

“Tea's done, sir,” Mycroft called through from the kitchen.

“By the couch,” he yelled back. The DI pulled Sherlock to his feet and pushed him through to the sitting room. 2 mugs waited on the coffee table and Mycroft was returning back to the sofa from turning the TV on.

Greg decided to wait the younger Holmes out. He knew Sherlock's penchant for yelling at the telly, which should draw him out.

The DI collapsed onto the couch with a tired sigh. He smiled at his sub and patted the seat next to him which Mycroft gratefully took, also keen to rest tired legs. Greg manoeuvred the younger man around the chair to kneel beside it but he didn't comment or ask why he didn't get a chair.

Five minutes passed in silence and the two older men exchanged glances. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty and they exchanged frowns. At the half hour mark, Mycroft leaned his head on Greg's shoulder and whispered, “I'm getting worried.”

The Dom nodded his agreement. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

The younger Holmes looked up, chagrined at being asked a direct question, one he would be expected to answer. He looked from the Dom to his brother and back again. He nodded once and whispered a very quiet, “yes, sir,” before dropping his head again.

Mycroft got up to make more drinks while Sherlock went back to staring at the floor. Greg raised his hand and dropped it on the detective's head, he pulled him in to rest on his knee but he didn't sink into it like Mycroft would. He didn't say anything further, either.

Sherlock's thoughts, which had centred at first on his own misery, slowly shifted towards John. He could picture perfectly the distress on his Dom's face and the fatigue in his stance. As Sherlock continued to peruse the image of John in his mind, he noted, to his horror, the tremor in his Dom's hand. Sherlock leapt to his feet, stepping away from Greg and towards the door across the room.

“Sherlock!” Greg barked.

The detective froze. He couldn't get out, the front door was likely locked and his hands were still cuffed behind him. Not only that, but the Dom was behind him in seconds. “What is it?”

Sherlock realised that John probably wouldn't want to see him even if he did stand a chance of getting out. With a quiet sob he moved back to where he'd been knelt and fell back to his knees. Sherlock could feel his brother's eyes on him. He dared to look up and meet them, willing him to understand, to read his mind as he so often seemed to do. John was vulnerable tonight, his defences weakened. Nightmares were a real possibility and it was all his fault. He sobbed, fresh tears running down his cheeks but he wasn't going to open his mouth, he'd say something he would regret.

“Sir, I'm going to go to Baker Street. Check on John.”

Greg glanced between the two Holmes' and nodded. “Alright, pet, do what you need to.”

Mycroft found his phone and shot a text off to Anthea before grabbing his coat and heading out of the door.

The DI turned his attention back to the detective, “are you going to tell me what's going on now?”

Sherlock didn't look up, and he definitely didn't speak. Mycroft was going to John without him opening his mouth; there was no need to now, he'd stay out of trouble.

Sherlock was a creature of extremes, Greg knew that. It was infuriating. Whereas the sub normally couldn't be made to be quite, now he was being stubbornly silent, refusing to answer the simplest of questions. The question was, was he doing it from sheer stubbornness or for some other reason?

Greg finished making the drinks that Mycroft had started and returned to the sitting room. Sherlock hadn't moved. Greg sighed and took a seat, wondering what his sub was doing across London.

“Sherlock are you going to answer any of my questions?”

He didn't look up.

Greg's voice went hard. “Sherlock, you will tell me why you're not talking, and you will tell me now.” He didn't touch the sub or loom, but his gaze didn't falter.

Sherlock felt the full force of Greg's dominance come down on him and he knew he needed to answer, but it went against everything he wanted, silence was safe. He couldn't bollocks uo anything with silence.

“Sherlock!”

The younger man started. “It's safer not to speak.”

“Safer?”

Sherlock didn't elaborate but Greg didn't get the chance to reprimand him further either, as the door opened and Mycroft led John in.

Sherlock's head whipped around and his eyes widened in horror. John wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be resting. Mycroft was supposed to be taking care of him. Sherlock couldn't do it, he had proven that quite plainly. The best he could hope for was to not exacerbate the situation by saying something stupid, something provocative.

John walked straight to him and crouched down, cupping his cheek. “Mycroft explained what you're trying to do,” he said tiredly. “Not talking isn't the answer, pet.” He placed a kiss on Sherlock's brow. “No matter what, that's never the answer.”

Sherlock looked away.

“What he's trying to do?” Greg asked, his sub intervened and pulled him to one side to explain.

“Sherlock?”

The detective's neck hurt with how low he was holding it but he daren't look up. John shouldn't be here. John should be at home, resting, without his annoying sub there to trouble him.

John's voice went gentle, far gentler than it had been all day. “Look at me, pet.”

Sherlock couldn't ignore that imploring tone, he looked up with tearful eyes.

“Yes, you're a wilful, stubborn, cheeky sub. Most days, I wouldn't have you any other way. Today, I was tired and pushed to my limit by your actions earlier. Maybe I need a safe word.” John gave his sub an experimental smile. “Yeah?”

Sherlock's eyes widened and he scooted back a bit, colliding into the coffee table.

“Greg? Keys?”

The DI looked over and then threw the key to the cuffs. John caught it in nimble fingers and then set about freeing his wrists. “Shh, pet. Come here.” John gathered the sub up in his arms and he broke down sobbing uncontrollably, muttering apologies. He still hadn't spoken.

They stayed there, tangled together for an indeterminate amount of time, John rocking his sub and murmuring words of comfort. Nothing seemed to get through to Sherlock, not until John started openly criticising himself and his handling of the day's events. The Dom could feel Sherlock going stiff and knew he was getting angry. Right now, that seemed like a good thing.

Finally, Sherlock had had enough. “No, sir! You're a good Dom. It's me. I'm the problem.” He bit his lip, he hadn't intended to speak.

“No, pet. Can you at least admit we're both at fault?” John caressed Sherlock's cheek gently, his touch matching his tone.

He shook his head once and pushed himself away from the Dom. “You should go home, sir.” Then he looked away, no more.

John glanced up at the DI and as he did Sherlock pushed himself back to his knees.

“You think you're protecting me, I get that, but you're not.” John made himself sound stern, despite the ache in his heart. “I don't need your protection. You like to say you're a grown man. Well so am I. I can look out for myself, thank you very much. Now put on your big boy pants and work with me. Show me we can get through this and find a way to make it work, because, damnit, I love you.”

Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes watering. He began shaking his head and didn't stop.

John moved towards him and he flinched back again so he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “It's alright, Sherlock, it's alright.”

Sherlock couldn't do this. He couldn't be here. John shouldn't be here. This was his fault! John would have nightmares tonight and he'd blame himself and that was… that was not ok… the door must be open, John hadn't closed it, he'd rushed to him when he'd got here. Sherlock bolted, but John was ready. He tackled his sub, pinning him to the floor. Sherlock could have thrown him off, but it was John, so it went against his natural instincts. Even as the Dom held him down, he peppered his face with kisses, murmuring, “I love you. I love you. I'm sorry. Let me love you.”

“I can't… I don't…”

“Shh…”

“You're sorry? Why?” Sherlock couldn't even string a sentence together.

“For letting you think it's all your fault... For letting you think I don't sometimes like your cheek... For not finding a way to let you know when you’re being a brat is what I want versus when it's a bit not good... For leaving you guessing... For all of that and more.” John paused to catch his breath. “Can you forgive me?”

“There's nothing to forgive, sir,” he choked out. Sherlock glanced at Mycroft. He didn't know what to do. Mycroft always knew what to do.

The elder Holmes looked to his Dom. Greg looked truly confused. Sherlock had gone from acting like a brat to seemingly broken. John had gone from dangerously angry to fragile and apologetic. He threw up his hands and nodded to Mycroft to do whatever he could.

Mycroft approached John and Sherlock and urged them to get up and sit on the sofa. “You two need to realise something. You're not like me and Greg. You're not like other Dom/sub pairings at all. You need the drama, the struggle. You just have to learn where to draw the line.”

Sherlock stood up. Mycroft stood with him. “Look, Lock, I know what John's just said about it not being your fault but I can't agree with him.”

He ducked his head.

“John can give you as many orders as he can think of, but if you don't want to obey him, you won't. And your mouth does get you into trouble. Yes we were both punished today. We're subs, and we're both in a relationship so we're going to be punished when we screw up, but that is not the time to be rude and arrogant and cheeky. Do you understand that?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Good. Then all you have to do is observe.” Mycroft gave him a little smile that his brother sheepishly returned. “You're good at that. Put it to good use, baby brother.”

Sherlock looked down at his Dom with caution to find he was watching the pair carefully.

“Observe what?” He asked of his brother.

Greg's mouth fell open, John dropped his head to his hand and Mycroft... Mycroft actually swore.

“My God, Sherlock, don't be a child. Observe John! Look for signs of distress. If you're blindfolded, use your other senses. It's not just important on cases. It matters in everyday life as well.”

“It never has before, Myc.”

Mycroft sighed, grabbed his baby brother and crushed him in a hug.

“You didn't have John before.”

And that, though it had been brought up before, finally struck a chord. Sherlock broke free from his brother's embrace and fell at his Dom's feet. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in them. “I'll try, sir. I'll watch and when I see that I'm pushing too hard I'll stop.”

John ruffled his hair. “And when I see that you can't, I'll back off a bit until we both get control, yeah?”

Sherlock's nodded frantically, not trusting himself to speak.

“No, Sherlock, don't start that again.”

“Yes, sir. You'll stop so we can fix it.”

“Good boy.”

John pulled him up and they kissed.


End file.
